Sly Cooper And The Final Cut
by Catalystic Regency
Summary: Enter the nightmarish realm of truth and reality. Rated M for strong violence and gore, strong language, sexual situations between humans and furres, and anti furre dogma. Chapter 4 added!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Sly Cooper, Bentley, Murray, and Inspector Carmelita Fox belong to Sucker Punch. I am using them without permission, cause I kick ass.

Inspector Scott Cooper, Inspector Arjen Hanson, Inspector Timo Silverwolf, Rufus Dogmeyer, Chief Kiss, Reverend Galagos, The Schlecter Greuel Beast, Mr. Limburger, and the town of Furlem are all brainchilds of Octavarius Kaiser Scott. Use them without permission and I'll have the Fanfiction administration gut you. You shitkickers.

The excerpt coming up is from the song _Crimson __And__ Amber_, which was written by me.

**Author's Note:** The third incarnation starts with a minor Chapter 1 edit. Please do enjoy your read.

_Shunned away are the unions we share__Converting the masses gives us reason to despair__Orchards and vineyards are burned to the ground__Twisted are the feelings that we have found__The pathos has run __it's__ course..._

_"Five... four... three... two... one."_

**Chapter 1: Ex ****Voto****Stockholm Museum****Stockholm, Sweden, 12:44 pm**

Darkness, silence and a blanket of white snow covered the faintly lit city of Stockholm. Most of its luckier inhabitants were snug under their bed sheets, being gripped tightly by their loved ones (or simply a pillow for some). The unluckier ones however, were left to freeze to death in nature's merciless sea of frozen rain, having nobody to hold or say goodbye to. Labors of a talented violinist, safe in his manor, added on to the sorrowful scene of an unfed nomad gripping an old picture of his past wife with frozen, dead fingers. He cried out painfully, dropped the picture to the ground and fell alongside it; dead. Life was harsh, and life was cruel. And to some, life was a playground...

Sly Cooper climbed to the top of the telephone pole that reached to the sky, and then gracefully darted across the thick wire that led to the Stockholm Museum's rooftop. The master thief executed a perfect somersault that lifted him off the wire and onto the sinister masonry that topped the grand museum. He slid his hand down the red pocket-holder that hung off his thigh, and pulled out his binoc-u-com.

"Hey Bentley, can you hear me?" he whispered into the concealed microphone that resided within the collar of his lazuline thieving outfit.

"Loud and clear, Sly." answered a nasal voice, "What's your status?"

"I'm on the roof of the museum. Where to next, buddy?" Sly inquired, cupping a paw over the side of his face to reduce the noise of the soft gale over the communicator.

Bentley, glancing from one computer screen back to the web cam, which displayed his visual on Sly's Binoc-u-com, paused then asked, "Alright, do you see that large window over there?"

The raccoon pointed the binoc-u-com to his right, and caught sight of a dark window residing on the base of a twisted obelisk that scraped the night sky. "You mean... that one?"

"Yeah. Try breaking in through there. If I'm reading these layouts correctly, you should land right next to the Apokem Chalice." Bentley was always one to have planned these sorts of things out in advance. Cooper could only grin at his orders.

Sly used his free paw to flick off some snow that nipped at his delicate nose and pondered. "What about security?"

His reptilian friend did not utter a word...

"Bentley?"

The tortoise rebutted with a touch of apprehension in his voice. "...That's odd. I'm not picking up any guards in the entire building. And all other security measures have been... turned off..."

"Well, means less trouble for me then." the thief grinned, adding, "I'm going in.

"Alright. Just... be careful." Warned Bentley with a subtle sigh.

"Yes dear." he joked in response. And with the utmost agility, the raccoon ran over to the large window and carved a perfect circle with the tip of his cane. He pushed the circle in, and quickly caught the glass disc before it could hit the floor. Cooper set it aside, and jumped through the circle. After a brief fall, the raccoon landed upon the stone flooring of the museum and straightened himself out, before tip-toeing towards the Apokem Chalice's obsidian prison. "Is this it?"

"Affirmative." replied Bentley, "Pulchritudinous, isn't it?" the turtle remarked of the Chalice's beauty.

The gaunt larcenist stupidly scratched his head at his cohort's advanced verbiage. "I guess..."

Bentley cleared his throat, getting back to business. "Sly... grab the chalice so we can get the heck out of here. This place is beginning to give me goosebumps..."

"Alright, alright," Sly groaned, rolling his two mesmeric pools of copper, "Don't get your shell in a knot."

"That's physically impossible, Sly." frowned the chelonian in a typically dull manner.

"It was a joke, man..."

"Chalice!" Bentley snapped, half wondering if he shouldn't try to have Sly diagnosed for Attention Deficit Disorder, during times like these.

Sly sighed and lifted the cane up over his head with both paws, and then brought the hooked end down upon the case, slamming it hard enough to crack the plexi-polymer. Sly then gave the display case a little, playful nudge. Glass shards of every shape and size flew in several directions. Parts of the display remained cracked and somewhat intact, but they wouldn't be for long.

With a couple of quick swipes, the remains were quickly taken care of by the wily master thief, and he was sure to keep careful with constant reminders from his whiny turtle companion. And though well aware of the museum's offline security measures, he was still expecting to be surrounded by high-tech combustive lasers. But of course, true to what Bentley had told him, absolutely nothing happened.

"See? What did I tell ya?" Bentley chuckled over the in-ear speaker.

"Sweet." Sly replied over the microphone, while eyeing the prize and wearing an arrogant grin. '_This was just all too easy_,' he thought to himself, proudly.

With the chalice now stripped of its external protection, Sly slid off the glove adorning his right hand and grabbed the shiny goblet. He carefully bounced it a couple of times, and was dumbstruck by the feel and lack of weight of the artifact. "Hmm..."

Adjusting his large glasses, the reptile noticed that his childhood friend had become terribly silent, and he, in response, lifted a heavy eyebrow. "Something wrong?"

"Tell me, Bentley, what's this thing made out of again?" he asked.

"From what I have read," Bentley said over the communicator, typing on another computer off to the side, to bring up information on the artifact. Once verified, he continued, "It was crafted centuries ago out of solid platinum. Why?"

Sly frowned thoughtfully, explaining, "'Cause this thing feels more like... plastic."

"_What?_" Bentley shouted, nearly falling out of his chair and scaring poor Murray, who was in a deep slumber, back at the safe house in a bed next to Bentley's workstation, "Oh gawd... it's a fake! That's why nothing was on! Get outta there, it's got to be a tr--"

Suddenly, a loud gunshot was heard, and a silvery bullet pierced through the thin, frigid air and blew the cunning coon's hat clean off of his head. Cooper, who was as imperturbable as could be, turned around slowly and caught sight of a pale white human emerging from the foreboding darkness that consumed the area. The Procyon narrowed his eyes, squinting to adjust his nocturnal vision better.

The bleak-looking man was clad in a jet black t-shirt and a pair of jeans sharing the same color. His long, dark and satiny hair was parted down the middle, causing heavy bangs to partially conceal his wicked, yet enchanting crimson eyes. And in his slender right hand, he was holding a Glock 26 -- the weapon of choice for Interpol officers who favored lethal force above all else. Yes, he was a sight that was all too familiar...

"You..." Sly murmured, dropping the fake Apokem Chalice.

"Sly? What's going on?" his tremulous comrade exclaimed, "_Sly_?"

"I've run into a bit of trouble, Bentley. Stand by," replied the thief as he bravely took his eyes off of the mentally-incompetent policeman, and peered down at the "invisible" source of electronic communication.

"Trouble? Don't tell me Inspector Fox is there..." came the reply over the communicator.

"No. It's much worse then that," The raccoon droned, a slight hint of annoyance haunting his low-spoken words, "It's her partner..."

"Aww man! This is bad!" Bentley cried, "Listen, I'll send Murray over there to drop you an escape rope. Just... try to stay alive until then."

"I will." Cooper assured the ever-worried turtle. Directing his ravishing brown eyes onto the sinister enigma, he contemplated for a quick moment, wondering why the big-wigs of Interpol were allowing this psychopath to have his way. Had they all gone insane? Coldhearted murder... devoid of the consequences that were enforced by every officer? The very thought never failed to perplex him.

After releasing a deep, almost jaded sigh, Sly twirled the cane he inherited with a circular motion of his wrist, and spoke with absolute valor; "So, Inspector Scott, we meet again."

Scott remained ominously silent. Cooper's softer visage was reflected in the human's icy, stoic gaze. Sly playfully flashed him a grin, and then picked his hat up from off the ground. The raccoon slipped his index finger through the hole, then his gaze lifted back to the Inspector.

Cooper paused, then playfully chided, "So... was this intentional? Or did you just miss?" Sly laughed while pointing at the hole in his hat. "Right here, see it?"

"What do you think, you fucking idiot?" Scott hissed, "It was a miss." At least he was humble enough to be honest about it.

"Ah, I figured." the raccoon said, rubbing his chin, "Carmelita _was_ the one that taught you how to fire a gun, so it's only natural that you're gonna miss a lot."

As Sly had predicted, the remark about Carmelita passing on her bad aim caused Scott to snap. "Worthless raccoon!" growled the vitriolic officer, "I'll make sure the pain you feel right before you die will be unimaginable!"

Scott laughed manically before he raised his barrel of death and opened fire. Without even bothering to hesitate, Sly used one of his ancestor's tricks to slow down time. The seven bullets that were once almost impossible to see were now clearly visible, only now they were moving at an extremely sluggish speed. Sly immediately knocked the bullets in all different directions with his cane. After the bearings of those cumbersome rounds had been redirected, he stopped the sneaky time trick. Right when he did, the bullets shot off into the directions that Sly had hit them.

"You missed." chuckled Sly.

Scott threw his now empty gun to the floor and exploded with incontrollable anger.

"You... motherfucker!" Scott was exasperated, shouting such curses with no regard for professionalism.

He mindlessly charged towards his prey, like a mad bull would to a matador. Sly effortlessly leaped over the enraged cop, and used yet another time-altering trick. Only this time, it was to speed up time. Sly watched in amusement as his human opponent zoomed across the museum floor, and ran face-first into the wall. Dazed, the officer stumbled around a bit, before falling to the ground. To Cooper's surprise, he was still conscious. Bloody, but conscious.

"Sly!" shouted a familiar voice, "Up here!" Sly looked up to see his good pal Murray, holding down a rope for him to climb.

"Climb the rope so we can get out of here!"

Sly grabbed the tightly intertwined cord of hemp and hastily began to climb it. Once he was at the top, he peered down at Scott and blew him a kiss, playfully batting his lashes.

"See you later, Scotty." crooned Sly before darting off into the night.

Scott clenched his fists and screamed at the top of lungs, "COOPER! I'LL KILL YOOOOOOOUUUUUUU!"

Bentley shivered as the madman's ferocious scream echoed its way outside. "Aww, man!" he whimpered, "That guy gives me the creeps..."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** And this is where The Final Cut becomes its own identity. Readers under seventeen be warned; there is a moderately descriptive scene of masturbation at the beginning. If you are uncomfortable about reading that sort of thing, then please, skip it. Bitching about it will only piss me off, especially considering the fact that I was nice enough to warn you in advance.

**Chapter 2: Enter - Reverend Galagos **

**Cooper Gang's Hideout****Paris, France, 7:09 pm**

The Cooper Gang's trip back to the City of Lights left them jaded and miserable. Thereupon the endless stretch of strangely mesmeric asphalt and frosted green fields they sat, uncomfortably, huddled over cramped seats in a congested vehicle. They occasionally found warmth and solace among the rest stops, old-fashioned cafes, or at dumpy hotels out in the middle of nowhere; ones that sometimes came with blessings in the form of rusting heat registers… the kinds that were built into the hotel walls smelling horribly of mold.

At one point, they even slept beneath a cracked ceiling, hoping to be caressed by the faintest inkling of warmth. This peaceful time gave them all a moment to escape reality, and to dream undisturbed for once. It was the perfect sanctuary, they found, from what haunted them every second of every day... even from miles away; Inspector Scott, and his demented intention to murder. It was a ward on him metaphysically, even if he didn't always acknowledge it.

They soon arrived at the crepuscular hideout. No longer a tiny caboose, it was now a converted and rather respectable one-story building. The ever-surreptitious Sly Cooper snuck into the diminutive lavatory, closed the door, and began to remove and discard his dirty clothing in a hasty manner. When all that remained was his hat -- the memento of his most recent encounter -- he gave it a good, long stare before chucking it aside. He very well kept in mind that next time Scott's aim might not betray him, and though this new path he stumbled upon almost constantly put his life on the line, he couldn't help but find the downfalls of his rival somewhat …humorous.

With his sleek, effeminate grey body now completely bare, he approached the pearl Jacuzzi, one stolen from some rich, manufactured musician, and gave the knob a couple of turns. A warm, steady stream of water poured out from the shiny faucet, reminding him of his vulpine lust object in the filthiest ways possible. Yes, once more, it was all coming back to him: The distant, synced movements of both voyeur and dreamer, and the look on Carmelita's face when she exploded into a state of ecstasy. Nothing that night had escaped his binoc-u-com -- the whole scene was imprinted permanently in the raccoon's mind, and he could turn to it whenever he desired...

This sudden avalanche of perversion sent a flow of blood to his hidden treasure, causing it to reveal itself in an elongated state. Once the tub was filled half-way, Sly carefully submerged his lower half, watching his pinkish, bulging, streamlined manhood bob the glassy surface of water. Closing those mischievous eyes, he fiercely worked and manipulated his erection, defying silly mainstream teachings for an overwhelming pleasure like no other. Minutes flew by, and each time he squeezed and stroked, he edged closer and closer to the gold.

As much as he tried, Sly could no longer hold back the inevitable. Thus, the raccoon tore down his last resistance, and announced his orgasm with a series of loud, euphoric moans. His body spasmed and released until all remained still, and the seed that had erupted from him lingered only for mere seconds before dissolving from the gooey pearl nectar that coated his paw. He felt that now, with those aching urges fully extinguished, he could finally get to washing his fatigued body. Sadly, this wasn't the case.

To the ringtailed furre's surprise, the safe walls of the surrounding bathroom had disappeared completely, leaving only a pitch-black world of endless proportions. Then, an unsettling piece of flesh appeared out of nowhere, and it shuddered and twisted into shape, until the end result looked like some nightmarish version of Inspector Scott's face. The surreal image groaned as it opened its bloody maw, which in turn, made Sly's fur stand on end at the nape of his neck.

"You cannot hide from death forever, Cooper!" the abhorrent being screeched, fading back into the abyss just as the raccoon jumped clear out of the Jacuzzi. Sly found himself starting to look about frantically like some crazed paranoid. The surreal world all around had reverted back to something much more familiar, but it was clear that the world Sly had thought of as a playground was gone for eternity.

"I'm starting to see things now. Great..." he growled, very much vexed by the sudden intrusion of wicked, schizophrenic imagery, "Hey Scott, why don't you do me a favor, and stay out of my fucking mind!"

Sly received not a single answer, of course, as his tormenter was not even physically present. The normally sangfroid raccoon shook his head, once he realized how inane this whole situation was. "Who am I talking to...?"

Quite abruptly, Murray broke down the door without even checking if it was unlocked. The locked bolt which held the door cracked with ease but held, causing the structure to splinter around its hinges. The door sprang free from its place and crashed to the floor. Almost instantly, the corpulent creature started to flail his arms all over the place in a manner that was quite prosaic. "SLY!"

"Whoa! Darn it, Murray!" the still naked raccoon scolded after being frightened once more. "Remember what I told you about barging in like that?"

Murray face faulted, lowering his eyes. "Sorry Sly, but Bentley wanted me to get you, and he said ASAP... whatever that means." His gaze lifted once more but stayed somewhat subverted from his friend to offer some measure of privacy.

"Well, tell her royal majesty that I'll be there in a moment." Cooper shook his head, glancing back to the tub. He then stole a glance at his paws to make sure that Murray hadn't seen the remnants of his earlier 'monologue' escapade with Carmelita Fox. His fur was matted down from water, making it impossible to tell; the sign of a true master thief: Leave no evidence…

Following the rotund pink burden's quick leave, Sly dedicated a moment to acclimate the "new changes" set in place. Once absolutely sure that all of those bothersome thoughts of losing the game of life were terminated, he grabbed an old towel, wrapped it around his slender waist, and then left the lavatory the way it was. Dripping wet, he entered the front room, where his two illuminated cohorts sat.

"What's up, Bent?" Sly pushed his thumb down into the fabric folded around his hips, tightening the cloth which clung to his lithe waistline.

"Thought you might want to take a look at this..." The tortoise's head swiveled slightly, and the flickering screen's reflection danced on his second set of eyes. Sly walked up to the dusty television set, and caught sight of something horrendous. Red banners and flags with white circles and black swastikas in the middle were being waved about by those who embraced them, while a pale man, scarred and completely bald, was pouring out his agenda and his venom...

"...Furres not only clutter up our once-clean lands, but they steal the hard-earned jobs of the white race as well!" spat the crazed man, strengthening his powerful manipulation with over-the-top hand movements. "And quite possibly the most vile aspect of these creatures, is that they dare infiltrate our bodies, and create monsters. Monsters like... I."

The malevolent expression the man wore twisted into a shammed mask of self-pity, and he clenched gruesome ugly face with his bony hands in an attempt to look pained. Though it surely wasn't enough to fool cynical viewers and the like, it was enough to cause a chain reaction of sympathetic murmurs within the gathering of skinheads and zealots.

Seeing that his lure did the job, and hooked the drones, he threw down his arms and continued his banter of ardor with a feverous contempt held in those whiskied tones of his voice. "It is most obvious that God is speaking his contempt through disgusting furre-and-human birthing. And he has very well spoken his contempt long enough. As the messenger of the night, I have shown you the correct path. And as the blade of God, I shall eradicate the core of our world's problems and unlock a new age for our perfect race! One without infidels and lesser beings! Will you rise up and join me, now, in my mission to find salvation for the human race?"

The crowd of faceless acolytes responded with a cacophony of discordant cheers, and then applause. It was like the reaction to the end of some musical concert, only staggeringly foreboding and dissonant, as the killing machines that slumbered inside of each attendee would soon be awakened to wreak havoc upon the world.

Truly surprised that the drones had accepted their new roles without any second thought, Bentley decided the circus' act was over, and so he shut the television off. But not before one last word boomed over the commotion;

"REVOLUTION!" The cry seemed guttural and atrociously horrific.

Cooper cocked a brow, playing it cool. "Who in the world was that?" he finally asked.

"That..." Bentley began, being the great edifier he was, "Is Hector Malvin Galagos. He's a corrupted evangelist who, as you may have already noticed, has something against the very existence of Furres. Not to mention he wants to annihilate homosexuals, bisexuals, and certain "imperfect" races of the human species as well. Yep. I think it's safe to say that we are officially doomed. Doomed! It's the second holocaust in the making, man!"

"Just what we need." the thief groaned, clearly unimpressed with this new addition, "Another crazy Christian extremist."

"Christian extremists." corrected the reptile, whose state of panic had instantly evaporated, "He isn't going to do this alone, after all. And that's what scares me..."

**Le Police Station, I.E.E. #35****Paris, France, 7:25 pm**

Inspector Carmelita Montoya Fox had seen and heard many revolting things in her life, but none of them came close to what she was witnessing on the television screen. She took one last sip of her now cold espresso, and tossed the foamy cup aside with a moue of disgust nearly painted upon her stern feminine visage. This caught the attention of the obese black man sitting next to her. Zaire Kiss was his name, and he was the Chief of the Interpol station in France. The good Chief gave his shades a nudge, wiped his large nose with a pudgy hand, and patted the Latin vixen on the shoulder in a comforting manner. She gazed at him with her gentle, yet fiery amber eyes, and the corpulent cop cocked a Cheshire smile in her direction.

"Don'chu be worryin', f'real." said the stout Chief, in exaggerated 'gangsta' talk, "I got dis on straight up lockdown, Inspecta' Fox. Whip out'cha high-9; we'll bus'sa cap up in dat ass, put deze Nazi mudda fucka's on lock down; you dig, playa? I'm all up on dat with th' straight dope, shawty."

"Yes well," The vixen face faulted, trying to maintain a professional atmosphere in the office. She glanced away for an instant then added, "we had better catch him fast then." She glanced back, following her polite retort and offered the previously pleasant gaze she had been sharing with the Chief up to this point. "This... Reverend Galagos definitely looks and acts like a genocidal psychopath. There's no telling how many he or his mindless henchmen will kill..."

"Oh, straight up; yo got no idea, girl. There's only... oh... t'ree-hundred murders dat we got th' straight dope about. Could be a lot mo'," he mused. Carmelita titled her head, raising her brow only to offer a double take at his numerical assessment.

Carmelita's black-tipped ears flattened against her wavy dark blue hair, amber oculars dilating; her jaw went slack for a moment then she found the breath to nearly gasp. The spitfire Latina blinked twice then exclaimed; "Three hundred!"

"Ain't no lyin', for real." Kiss spun around in his office chair and directed a pointed finger to a file cabinet, "Got all da cases and shit up'n there. Most of his victims, no foolin', were government officials hailin' from th' land o' th' free."

Carmelita's natural instinct as an inspector came back; her first duty was to herself: She had to ask questions. Her query was concise, simply asking, "America? But why from there?"

Kiss shrugged, lifting his arms, palms up to accent his ignorance in the matter. "Shit, dawg, I dunno why I ain't even got the mudda fuckin' answa' to dem junks, Inspecta'."

Carmelita was not satisfied in the least bit. "Well, have the Americans even come close to catching him? He can't possibly be very elusive, considering he's showing himself on live television."

"Hell no. And they got no damn leads, neither."

The discussion between both furre and man ended immediately when an enraged Inspector Scott slammed open the door with such ferocity, that the glass and sharply-designed insignia in the center shattered. "Motherfucking bastard!" he growled, "Why must he always escape my traps!" With his wrath controlling every movement, Scott subjected the Chief and his very own vulpine partner to another one of his draconian tantrums. Nothing in the office was left untouched; papers were effortlessly shredded, cabinets and desks were tipped over and pictures were torn from the walls. Not even the television was spared, as a couple of hits from a vacant office chair left it smashed and unidentifiable. Kiss, having experienced enough of these "moments" in the past, placidly got to his feet and asked;

"Scott, why E-visceratin' ma digs, son?" Kiss' choice of vocabulary showed that he wasn't as ignorant or unintelligent as he may have sounded.

The man in question managed to stifle his frenzied state suppressing his deep inner ire; The Inspector answered with a sharp, unintelligible grumble. Scott's acrimony was colossal, but Zaire kept his cool, for the moment being.

"Lemme guess... Sly Coopaa did bullet-time junks, dodged yo' shit, blocked all yo heat, den bounced like whut?"

"Yes!" Scott acknowledged.

Noticing the situation was highly reminiscent of past encounters with the master thief, Kiss could only really shrug. "Then, whut? Yo crack'a ass ran into a wall after he sped-all-up time, and he proceeded to ex-scape 'gain?"

"Yes!" Scott erupted almost without shame. He then continued, adding, "I need something that is..." He trailed off, but Kiss was almost right ontop of him with a suggestion on how to word his next statement.

"Coopaa-proof? Well, I might have da key, son! I might have th' muddafuckin answer to yo prayers, fo' ya, boy." Kiss offered a crafty smile.

Scott's fingertips curled tightly around the fabric collar of his superior. Short of hurting his employer, he simply lifted the man from his feet until the man's shoes levitated, ascending from the floor. "Tell me!" He bellowed in a gutteral tone. His chest heaved, his neck straining and his forehead tightening. A sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, short of a vein being visable.

Kiss furrowed a brow, speaking as though he was unfazed, regardless of what he felt; "You frontin' nigga? You needs ta be puttin' a nigga down, straight up, playa'. Hate da fuckin' game son, not th' playas, now putta nigga down'n chill the fuck out, cracker."

Partially satisfied, Scott narrowed those sunswept obsidian oculars for a moment. The momentary frenzy began to pass to some extent and his arms loosened, returning his senior officer to the floor. Kiss grinned just slightly, reaching up to tug at his shirt, freeing his threads of unslightly wrinkles. Matching white tennis shoes, completely clean and untouched by even a single molicule of dirt touched the ground completely once more and he said, "Da's what I mutha' fuckin' thought. Shit, nigga. Now..."

"A'ite, scope out deeze shits: our scientists over at da Special Weapons Division have spawned a straight up gangsta' lethal, next-generation snipin' rifle called da' INTERPOL LEVIATHAN-171," His Brooklyn gangster dialect seemed to vanish instantly, pronouncing the words with proper enunciation. The Chief simply continued his explanation. "…or INLEV fo short. It gots sixteen titanium-coated rounds able ta tear t'rew flesh, muddafuckin' bone, any kin'na armor yo' can think of; all dem junks. It come in'a compact state, since the barrel's like, shit dawg... nine feet long'n junk… so yo' can exten'it when yo' please with da press of a button. Ain't dem shits be straight up crazy trippin'?"

"I want it!" Scott's eyes widened and a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, almost leering in a yearning state of need.

"Now hold th' phone, dawg. They still testin' it out--"

"NOW!"

"A'ite, a'ite nigga; chill! Mo' fuckin' Christ you'se trippin' buu!"

As soon as the Chief took leave from the "barren wasteland", Scott was suddenly reduced to cowering down beside his partner, and unlocking his concealed gates, letting whatever was left inside pour out. Carmelita's own bleeding heart of empathy gave her the power to understand his problems entirely, and so she wasn't flummoxed or even embarrassed by his violent actions. How many times had she pounded her fist on the ground after Cooper eluded her? How many criminals did she nearly eviscerate in anger when she was frustrated in the past? If anything, she was one of the very few people who could empathize best with Scott right now.

She merely ran her those sandy colored digits of fur through his silky black hair and quietly repeated foreign words of comfort, like a mother would to her distressed child. Yes, that's all he was; a pitiful little child, seeking solace and revenge in a world that rejected him. As Carmelita was the only one who welcomed his presence, and accepted his very existence, he in turn, developed heavily-enforced selfishness, and if any slithered past the barricades he built, he would ruthlessly slaughter them. This hurt in his heart began to erode just slightly, nuzzling into her comforting embrace to some degree before turning away once more. They weren't the most romantic couple, but their trust and ability to empathize with one another helped get them through tough times together.

The thing was, they were partners and both put their work first in their lives. The sun set with practiced bravado and the wings of night had arrived on schedule. The ruined office fell into darkness as the illumination dimmed in the windows. Sinister scarlet irises provided Scott's visage with an unnatural glow. A lifeless sea that threatened to swallow his soul, those reflective orbs came to rest upon Carmelita, beholding her exploited radiance. His jaw trembled and his lower lip quivered just slightly; only Carmelita was allowed to see even a hint of weakness in him… He couldn't help but stammer, telling her, "I … I wa… I want to k-kill him. I w-want t-t-o kill him; I need… I need t-to kill him… I m-must… I..."

She placed a padded fingertip against his cold lips. "Hush now. Your moment of judgment will come." He was pensive, frustrated and his heart was pounding with a bundle of mixed emotions.

Scott took a slow breath and tightened his jaw then said, "No... it won't. Nothing has ever gone right…! Cooper will keep defeating me... INLEV or no. It's an endless cycle... a fucking endless cycle that I wish would break!"

Carmelita opened her mouth to scold but instead, her tone came out to sooth. "Calm down..."

Scott threw his arms upwards. "Why does this piece of shit world exist! Why does he exist!" He closed his hands into fists, clinching until his knuckles turned white, just channeling his anger.

The lovely Latin vixen's answer was an impending one. "Para crear y destruir. Vida... y sino."

"I just, I mean, I," Scott glanced back at her; their eyes locked.

Carmelita leaned forward, brushing her lips against his, simply to quiet him. His heart seemed to pause and his knotted chest uncoiled for a moment. This was the one thing that gave him a massive one up over Sly Cooper. He couldn't bring himself to smile into the kiss but it did relieve his frenzy and pent up rage for at least another night. At least for one more night, he could keep the beast, coiled in his heart, a bit more… docile.

_"Mother, who are they? Those people in the old photographs?" _

_"They are people who were once apart of your past, but no longer, as they will soon be non-existent."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"Their time has come to an end. Now you must simply forget them."_

_"But mother--"_

_"Forget them."_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Ajax Galagos, Cynthia Cat, Black Bear, Jeb Mink, Guy Wagner, Veronica Rabbit, Gethsen Pheles, Dr. Uriah Heep, Richie Evergrey, Erick Dreagan, and the countless unnamed students are the intellectual properties of Kaiser Scott (that's me). Use them without permission, and I'll sic my deadly HIV penguins on you.

**Author's Note: **We'll be breaking away from the main plot for a moment, and touching upon Reverend Galagos' past with this _Christian Disease_ trilogy. Just the mandatory stuff, as I believe every good villain needs an extensive back story. Plus, it would cover up them nasty "holes".

We'll begin with the eventual coupling of Ajax and Cynthia. Nothing really exciting here, save for maybe the history lesson. Hyuk.

Just to avoid confusion; this is a past event, so it's completely in italics.

**Chapter 3: The Christian Disease: La Nostra Notte**

_**University Of Tainted Knowledge**__**Newport, Oregon, 4:02 pm, 1963 A D**_

_Autumn had arrived, and with it came an early chill. The leaves of many trees were painted in an assortment of colors when the seasons changed, and inevitably brought them to the ground. The bells of the University Of Tainted Knowledge tolled vociferously as a new batch of students (young and old alike) treaded the stone pathways, eagerly waiting to assimilate all they could, and in the process, make advancements in their lives. The active collection of minds mostly belonged to Caucasian homo-sapiens, though there were varying furres in small collections by race. But, as with everything that was even remotely peculiar to the human eye, they were differentiated and looked down upon by their teachers and peers. This crystallized treatment and xenophobia became widespread throughout the country. It was not just furres; innocent blacks, homosexuals and other minorities were under the inexorable shadow of discrimination as well, and they were the kin of the seemingly "supreme" white race. The land of the free this was not -- it was only a land where the strongest and richest receive the benefits of absolute freedom. Or so they were taught to believe..._

_And then there was a man named Ajax Galagos, who was vacant of all the meaningless hatred towards these oddities, and even dedicated himself to educating them._

_He was Caucasian with neatly combed blonde hair, stood a full six feet two inches, and had a slight belly on him. He wore thick glasses on his clean, shaven face, and his typical attire consisted of a white t-shirt, black jeans and a plain dotted tie - certainly nothing too extravagant. He taught his students Furre History (something unheard of), and was quite knowledgeable about every related subject. And unlike most teachers, he wasn't cruel or vague to those he enlightened. Anthromorphs had never done anything to him, and they already went through enough, so there wasn't any reason to treat them inhumanly._

_With his books and other materials in hand, Ajax made his way through the hustle and bustle, occasionally acknowledging the presence of those around him before making his way through the main doorway. Therein, he fleeted up the rows of stairs and to his classroom, where he was greeted by his fifteen furre students. Thankfully, they weren't rambunctious lot, and they immediately settled down after Galagos took a seat._

_"Good afternoon, everyone." he said congenially, and the response he received was equally so. "Where did we last leave off?"_

_A rather intelligent looking fruit bat raised his hand, and answered; "We were wrapping up the accomplishments of the furre revolutionist, Thomas Khan". _

_"Hell no." grumbled a burly pitt bull, who was infamous for his temper, his educational disinterest, and his eraser-chewing problems. After wasting yet another pink implement, he crossed his large arms and glared at the smaller furre. "We finished that mumbo-jumbo already."_

_"No we didn't!" the Pteropodidae countered, "You're just being a shit!"__"Do you want me to come over there and kick your ass, ya pollinating son of a bitch?"_

_Galagos found himself smiling at the rather amusing scene, but he was still aware that if he just sat there and did nothing, the fight would surely escalate. So with hardly any effort at all, he calmed the two down, and pulled out a dusty, ancient-looking book with several creases and gnarly stains on the front and back covers. It was titled 'The History Of The Shadow Society'. "If I do recall, my canine student, we were in fact wrapping up the final chapter of Thomas Kahn and his war against the wicked and ultra-religious Shadow Society."_

_He flipped to the last pages, and scanned through the small text until he found where they had last left off. "Ahh, yes. That bohemian, Kahn, and the Sons Of Light had infiltrated the Society's fortress. For hours they fought bravely against the extremists, until all that was left was the grand master; Uriah Heep. Kahn challenged Heep to a one-on-one duel, and they continued the war up to the highest tower of the devilish structure. Things were starting to look grim for Thomas, but he shrugged off the wounds inflicted upon him, and finally drove his sword through the throat of Heep, after his opponent made a fatal wrong move._

_Bloodied, the victorious leader of the Sons slowly proceeded down the stairs, and shouted to his army; "We are free! We are free!". They broke out in cheers of happiness, as the world was free of the ever seeing 'eye' that was fixated on their genocide. But alas, the celebration lasted only for a few minutes, as Heep pulled the furre's own blade out of his neck and cut him to pieces with it. The crowd was in complete shock, and Kahn's second-in-command, Sir Galleth Cooper of the infamous master thief lineage, ran over to assist him, but was suddenly attacked and killed by an unknown avian who had burst through the stone walls. A great portion of the army, sadly, was mercilessly slaughtered as well. And so this ended the Society, and the darkest age of cleansing through extermination."_

_Ajax closed the book and a cloud of dust blew up into his face, causing him to sneeze a few times. "Ack! Damned thing!" He rubbed his nose and playfully scolded the book, which helped to sort of lighten up the class' somber mood._

_"Alright, can anyone tell me why the Shadow Society declared Thomas as a 'threat to civilization?' "_

_The students looked about at each other and shrugged until a statuesque Egyptian Mau cat gracefully raised her hand into the air. Ajax laid his eyes upon her and melted inside as he examined her. She was of short height, had an athletic, yet undeniably curvaceous build, and always wore a sanguine expression on her feline face. Soft silvery and spotted hair covered every inch of her body, and was complemented by the long, flowing black hair on her head. And finally, her eyes were like sparkling emeralds. Her name was Cynthia Cat, and she happened to be the teacher's personal favorite out of the fifteen. Not because of her natural 'equipment', but rather, her intelligence, her magical voice and those luminous eyes that pierced him to the core._

_He finally shook off the fluttery feeling, and nodded in her direction. "Yes, Cynthia?"_

_Cynthia lowered her hand and answered in a gentle, calmative voice. "Because he questioned the establishment of Christianity and its true purpose...?"_

_"And what is its true purpose?"_

_"To create a perfect world that is devoid of sin and abomination."_

_"Yes! That is quite right. And to accomplish this, they declared furres as God's imperfections, and murdered thousands upon thousands of them. And Kahn, though being human, stood against their genocide once he became aware of Christianity's absolute corruption, and was thusly labeled as a traitor and a threat. Very good, Cynthia."_

_"What happened to the Shadow Society?" asked the fruit bat, "I mean, that Uriah Heep guy somehow survived, right?"_

_"Excellent question." Galagos complimented, though entirely aware that the bat had failed to raise his hand. Such things weren't really an issue with him. "Though Heep's fate remains unknown, many, including myself, believe that he went into hiding after the Sons Of Light were wiped out. To wait and plan until the moment presents itself, when he could at last resurrect the Shadow Society, and go through with his sick and devilish plans."_

_The winged mammal took his thick glasses off and started to clean them with his shirt. "That didn't happen, obviously..."_

_"True, but some firmly believe that Uriah Heep is some kind of immortal being. I know... it sounds a bit absurd..." A few chuckles broke out amongst the students, but Galagos quickly silenced them with the reinforcement of fact; "However, he did survive a fatal stab to the neck."_

_Then, a ridiculously wide male walrus starting bouncing up and down in his chair while flailing his hand about. "Ooh, ooh! Whatever happened to the pretty cat that Thomas had SEX with?!" After he had blurted this out, the entire classroom erupted in laughter. _

_Ajax shook his head and answered as seriously as he could have. "The book doesn't say. Most likely, she gave birth to his children and kept the family line going..." The educator gave his prodigious pupil a shrug, but found it very hard to continue, as Cynthia was staring at him in what seemed to be a suggestive manner. "Urm... moving on!"_

_At long last, today's period of Furre History was over, and Ajax was off for the rest of the week. Of course, he usually hung around the schoolyards after his sessions with his good friend, Black Bear. Not a bear, of course, but a stumpy, rotund black Louisianan human with a small set of eyes, a large nose and an even larger afro. Galagos found him in front of the janitor's old beat-up tool shed -- where he always sat and smoked his marijuana. No one else bothered with him very often, as they were all chattering amongst themselves or making off for their next period. But sometimes he was shooed off the premises by the janitor himself, or the administrative big wheels, or the law, if the wheels decided they didn't want to move, which was quite often. No matter what though, Black Bear remained._

_Ajax finally sat down beside his friend, and waved a bit of American currency in his face. Black Bear gave him a goofy grin and snatched up the holy dollar bills, giving him a conventional bong and a good handful of dried hemp plant in return. The teacher knew he could get in quite a bit of trouble for his secret addiction, but strangely, he paid the consequences no mind. He thought of it as his own way to calm the mind and relieve stress through the daftness of education._

_Black Bear counted the money while his friend packed the weed into the bong's slide. "Alright brother. Ya want the fifty-cents out of the 'nine-fitty'"?_

_The benevolent pedagogue shook his head. "No, it's alright. Keep it all." His darker friend sighed in return, and handed him a cigarette lighter to ignite the magical substance. Once this was done, __Galagos put his lips around the mouthpiece and inhaled fiercely after a satisfactory amount of smoke had built up within. "Oh man, that Cynthia screws me up, big time." he blurted out randomly._

_"I'll say," replied Bear, "That's all ya seem to talk about, nowadays."_

_"She's so pretty..."__"Pretty enough to be one o' my stripper biyatches. I own me a furre club, yanno!" the Southerner guffawed, before wrapping his oversized lips around his own bong's mouthpiece. He inhaled a bit, coughed, and then continued; " Say... why don't ya ask her out?"_

_Ajax blinked his sky blue eyes and blushed. "Not sure if I want to do that. I mean... I'm pretty damned ugly."_

_"That's true." Black Bear guffawed again, apologizing subsequently for his bad humor. "But hey, don't worry about that shit, ya hear? You're a smart guy. Nothing on the outside should matter to her... unless her sweetness is all some facade. Womens can be nasty."_

_"I don't think it's a facade..."_

_"Then quit being a baby and ask the damned kitty out! Ya never know... you might get yourself laid."_

_"...Okay." Ajax sighed, "I'll give it a shot."_

_"Hey you!" called out a pale, pompous looking Caucasian, who had a severe amount of acne spread out all over his thin and greasy face. "Why don't you get away from shit-skin there, and come hang out with us? He might give you a bunch of diseases, or somethin'." As he said this, two other white fellows beside him snickered. They were also covered in the inflammatory disease, and looked just as revolting._

_Black Bear put his hookah aside, and quickly stood up. "Diseases? Shit-skin? What the fuck is wrong with ya little white assholes, anyways?" he shouted, waving a clenched fist about, "Huh? Why don't ya come over here and say that nonsense in my face?" _

_"What? And get AIDS?" laughed one of the snobbish adolescent's cronies. "No thank you."_

_"Cowardly little racist crackers!" growled Bear._

_"Did you just call us crackers, you fucking nigger?!" the overgrown infant suddenly snapped. His face turned entirely red, and his arms were flapping every which way. His two schoolmates cowered before him, even though the scene being made could hardly be called an intimidating one. "Ohhh man, now I'm pissed! Yeah, you'd better eat this shit off of my boot, or I'll get my Pa to shoot your fucking brains out! Goddamned mosshead!"__The intolerant "patriot" wasn't the only one to snap. Soon, Galagos was on his feet and at the defense of his companion. "Alright, enough is enough! This man that you're disparaging is MY friend, and I will not tolerate it anymore! I am THIS close from coming over there and smashing in that disgusting face of yours. Either cut it out, or so help me..." He didn't continue, but rather, he took one step forward, and the three obnoxious adolescents frightfully jumped back._

_"Whoa, whoa, man. We were just having a little fun! Honest! We'll leave you alone now, we swear!" _

_And so they did. All three of the acne-slathered extremists wasted no time in escaping their well deserved thrashing. Ajax sighed softly, and sat back down again with Black Bear. The ebony man __thanked his friend for ameliorating the situation, and assured him that his aforesaid slang was not aimed at all whites -- just the ones who were stupid, ignorant and heartless enough to deserve it._

_"It's alright, Bear." he said, coolly, "Those narrow-minded jackasses can really get under one's skin..." _

_It didn't take long for a mixture of silence and melancholy to reign over the two. But Galagos, being the cheerful man he was, rattled his bong, cracked an absurd smile, and washed away the glumness that lingered from the heated firestorm of words. "So, are we gonna get high off of this stuff, or what?"_

_**The next day...**_

_Galagos pushed through the vivacious sea of bodies that crowded the university's pathways, running just a tad bit later than usual. He hardly got any sleep last night, due to being so worried about how Cynthia would respond. Would she comprehend the revelations he stumbed upon, and be embraced at long last? Or was he destined to be let down for the rest of his life? She wasn't the first woman that he had fell in love with, after all. Hopefully she didn't conceal anything under that kindness of hers. The world out there was too cruel, and living through it alone didn't help him any.__"She's not a lie. She's not a lie. She's NOT a lie..." he quietly declared to himself as he opened the familiar large doors, and lethargically ascended the stairs to his classroom._

_The history lessons he taught today went on for what seemed to be forever, but as with everything, they came and went, and left the teacher even more jaded. When he exited the building, he noticed that Black Bear seemed to be missing, and this struck Ajax as highly unusual. Most likely those -- reported him to the university staf members, or the police. He grew quite woeful when he realized his friend probably had no say of his own, because of his skin color. Ajax cursed at how purportless this whole system was, and continued past the shed until his eyes met up with her own._

_Time frooze, it seemed, when he saw her staring into him again. Beautiful Cynthia, sitting down against a wall with a thick history book in her hands, and wearing a heartwarming smile, which invited him closer and closer, until he stood before her. She then rose from the ground and placed a gentle hand on his arm, causing him to shudder._

_"Mr. Galagos, you seemed so tired today." she said so very softly, "Has something been troubling you?"_

_"Troubling me? Naw..." he replied, rubbing the back of his head, "Just didn't get very much sleep..."_

_"Oh, please don't lie to me." the Egyptian Mau placed her hands on his hips, and his temperature increased. "I can sense when you're troubled, and you HAVE been. Tell me what's wrong..."_

_He suddenly felt very stupid for hiding the truth from a feline. Her senses were far beyond his own, and there was no chance in hell he could lie his way of this one. But then again, why should he? He imagined Black Bear being there behind him, slapping his forehead and silently calling him a dumb shit.__She asked him again, and at last with a shaky sigh, he opened himself up. "I'm... errm... deeply in love with you, Cynthia."_

_"I already knew that, silly." Cynthia smiled, and laughed as he sputtered in response. "Though... I'm sure there's more to it..."_

_Ajax felt like he was going to pass out. "Yes, that's right. I... well... I wanted to know if you..."_

_"Yes...?"_

_"Wanted to... go out to dinner with me." He shut his eyes and clenched his teeth, instinctively expecting the worse possible response from the lovely feline. Instead of being called some hideous name, or being thrown away like trash, she put her slightly muscular arms around him, and pressed her cold pink nose against his warm cheek. _

_"I think that's a wonderful idea, Mr. Galagos." she cooed, unaware that this embrace of theirs drew several bewildered looks from teachers and students who were out and about. "Does eight o' clock sound alright?"_

_He mustered one of his silly grins and exclaimed; "Of course!"_

_**La nostre notte...**_

_After making a quick stop at a local clothes shop for a tuxedo within his price range, Ajax made off for Cynthia's place in his maroon 1959 Chevrolet El Camino. He followed the directions she had given him on a small piece of paper, until he reached a small, dumpy looking house painted of a pale green color. He pulled into the driveway and saw her standing outside the door, clad in a sparkling violet dress and black high heels. A golden necklace dangled from her neck, and that pleasant face, thankfully, beared no sign of useless enhancements. Positively glorious._

_She waved at him, and he watched her small breasts bounce with an idiotic expression. Unaware of where her escort's eyes were, Cynthia staggered towards the vehicle (obviously not used to those shoes of hers), and opened the door, greeting him with a casual "hello" before sitting herself down. Ajax pulled out, and they made off for the restaurant known as Sigur Ros._

_Their destination was hardly the most ostentatious restaurant in Newport, but such things didn't matter to the feline. She just wanted excellent food to feast upon, and it was quite so -- she ate three times more than Galagos himself did, which surprised the human greatly. Her manners were also anything but feminine, as he soon found out, but all and all, they had a wonderful time at Sigur Ros. Until they walked out..._

_"Hey look! It's that nigger-lover who threatened me!"_

_To the unusual couple's dismay, the trio of hateful whites who had terrorized Ajax a day earlier were standing beside his El Camino. Their disgusting, malodorous leader then pointed and laughed when he saw the beautifully-dressed Mau. "And this time, he's with one of them hairballs!" The other two giggled madly while the boy-child continued to pour out vulgar comments._

_Ajax could take it no longer. "I am through with you, you fucking asshole!" he shouted vehemently, throwing an unexpectedly hard punch at the kid, resulting in him flying into the Chevie and banging his head against one of the doors. Crimson liquid spilt out of his broken nose and onto his navy blue t-shirt. He moved slightly and groaned something inaudible, but went unconscious afterwards. The other two ran over to their downed friend and shook him a bit, becoming emotionally crazed when his eyes remained shut. Being the loyal dolts they were, they gently picked him up from the asphalt and hauled him away. In their place came a sudden fall of rain that pelted man and furre without mercy._

_"I'm so very sorry, Cynthia..." Galagos whispered, rubbing the stinging sensations out of his hand._

_"Don't apologize." she smiled, "You were just defending me..." The feline wrapped her arms around his wet form, and thanked him as she rubbed her face against his own._

_Later on, Ajax returned his furre date to her home, and was surprised once more when she invited him inside. And behind the closed door she smothered him with her hands and her lips. She bit his neck as she gently pushed him up against the wall, breaking away from the tender flesh to run that warm, rough tongue all over his icy-cold face. _

_Simultaneous to her shower of affection, Ajax's hands found their way down her dress, cupping and tenderly massaging her buxom breasts. Instinctually, he used his thumbs to rub those sensitive peaks of hardened pink flesh, sometimes being a bit daring and pinching them. His ministrations turned Cynthia's pleasured moans into low growls. She grabbed him by the tux, and their kissing commenced again as she dragged him up the stairs. _

_Thereon, the human's tongue entwined with the feline's own, and they broke away for a few seconds to explore each other's mouths before those velvety pink tips danced again. This continued until they reached the top, with Cynthia severing the kiss to belch loudly. Ajax's growing phallus twitched and rose further when she did this, and the strong scent of her past meal became ubiquitous. Distasteful for others, perhaps, but arousing for the teacher._

_Cynthia slammed open the door to her bedroom, and she and her lover tumbled onto her bed. Galagos quickly tore off her dress, his breathing even more labored as he scanned her totally nude, furry form. The Mau rid him of his tux and peeled his white shirt off in an unhurried fashion, kissing up his stomach and teasing his concealed rigid manhood by pushing her pelvis against it. _

_"Hands and knees, Cynthia." he whispered into her furry ear. She readily did so, and curiously watched him crawl behind her with brilliant eyes. Ajax spread apart her firm buttocks with his hands, sampling the smells of her wet sex and her anus before running his tongue along the latter. She squirmed and closed her eyes, moaning every time he licked or inserted his tongue into her tail-star. She winced and growled when he pushed two of his fingers inside. Her muscles loosened though and she came to enjoy the new sensation._

_The human pulled out of her, and slid his pants down, at last releasing his throbbing cock from its prison. His fleshy fingertips clasped at her hips, sifting through the soft fur. He drew her body back, pushing his hips forward until he sunk into her from tip to hilt. His right hand came up to grasp at her tail, holding it up; his left hand slid up along the side of her torso then slid beneath. He cupped her bosom, kneading with his fingertips while ramming that hard girth into her body. _

_She cried out, bucking her body back against his; their taboo act was equally understood. It didn't matter that they were of difference races; in the end, they both understood the same age-old rhythm and body language. The sweet perfume of intercourse filled the air; her aroma was overpowering, scenting the air sweetly of her desire for him to fill her with his seed..._

_Little did they know, however, the end results would prove to be fatal..._


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **Maggie Mink is mine! Same with Edwig and the homeless guy!

**Author's Note:** First off, I'd like to thank Kit Karamak for helping me out of my writer's block. You're always adding on to my vision, and I don't know where I'd be without you.

With that said it's certainly been a while since the deletion of the original Chapter 4. Though I've been discouraged for months without end, I finally managed to pull through. So really, I must thank the spiteful fangirls who reported my offensive story. Your stupidity and unyielding nature somehow improved my writing. Perhaps you do serve a purpose beyond pissing me off...

Now, anyone who remembers the old Chapter 4 knows that this is where everything falls apart... yet comes together, if that makes any sense at all. Changes are in the air, chaos is minutes away from breaking out and there's tension. Oh, and there's that subtle little plot twist that nobody knows about. See if you can find it.

One last thing, there's a good amount of gore sprinkled throughout this chapter. Yeah. Tread carefully and enjoy yourselves.

**Chapter 4: Revolution 9**

**Carmelita's Apartment****Paris, France, 10:09 pm**

Inspector Scott stepped out of the shower, his dark hair and sleek pale body glistening with water droplets. He pulled a lavender colored towel from the top of the misty slider door and vigorously dried his form. Once thoroughly dried, he tossed the towel aside and stretched himself before switching off the light. He exited the bathroom and approached Carmelita, who was sitting comfortably underneath the sheets, enclosed in her night gown and shifting through what seemed to be an endless amount of papers from an old police file.

S**c**ott crawled beside Carmelita and examined the folder. "Hector Malvin Galagos..." he read aloud. He dropped the uninteresting pasteboard and turned to his vulpine partner, asking; "All of this is on him?"

She nodded, keeping her eyes on the weathered paper. "From every murder he's commited, to the hospital he was born in; everything's in here. Though something strikes me as very peculiar..."

"What?"

"Well, when Hector is out in the open and spreading his vile propaganda, no one has bothered to arrest him. **A**ccording to this, all of the law-enforcement installations in the respective vicinities have been... ordered to stay put. And on top of all that, he's been involved with the CEO of Interpol; Gethsen Pheles. Not recently, but many years ago."

Scott blinked. "Weird. And I didn't even know we had a CEO. How come I've never heard of him?"

"He's a very secretive person." Carmelita explained while putting the vital paperwork back into the folder. "And he never visits any of the stations. Nor does he call -- it's always either Doctor Heep or Special Agent Torche who communicate with Interpol's 'lesser' staff members. Stranger still, there's been rumors of our higher-ups being imperative members of a Satanic secret society."

The human officer couldn't help but scoff at these ridiculous rumors. "A Satanic secret society? Sounds like some crazy bullshit to me."

"Bullshit or no, it was enough to warrant a co**v**ert investigation by Chief Kiss and several others. But so far, they've found nothing that suggests any relation to this society, let alone Satanism in general..." After dumping the thick folder onto the carpet she laid herself down, and her majestic unbraided hair smothered the pillow below. She yawned and remained quiet for good while, with the dust-covered lamp to her side growing dimmer and dimmer, until finally fading out.

"...Fucking lamp." Scott grumbled.

"We really n**e**ed to move out of this dump." the vixen sighed while rubbing her tired eyes. "And find ourselves a real home."

"An isolated home. With a nice view of the ocean." added her partner.

She nodded, rolling over in the human's direction and pushing her cold, wet nose into his bare chest. "And a place to put the Lamborghini we've been saving up for..."

"Oh yes." The darkness of the night cloaked Inspector Scott's smile, the most rarest of occurances. However, it soon disappeared when he cont**i**nued on a more somber note; "I just hope when Cooper and Galagos are expunged, we'll have the chance to live life... correctly."

"Correctly?" She looked up at the pale shadow, scowling. "Scott, despite the abrasive circumstances of the past, we've been living life like everyone else. There is no correct way to live, but there _is_ a way to make the conditions of life more pleasant." Carmelita placed a hand on his face, and she switched to a more assuring tone. "I promise you, once those who impede our dreams are gone, things will get better. Everything we talk about will become a reality if we stay persistent and keep yearning. Got it?"

His answer wa**s** lighthearted, yet comprehensive. "Got it... ma'am."

Then, all within the room became peaceful and soundless, save for the gentle ticking of the alarm clock. With the passing of an hour or so, both human and furre had drifted off into the inevitable deep slumber, while safely tucked away and absent from the waywardness of the exterior madhouse -- for tonight at least. With the curtain of uncertainties drawn, the succeeding day would signal a drastic change for the world. **A** change that would alter the destiny of many, including those who would commit such unrightful alterations.

Tommorow, the 'Christian disease' would kill again.

_...Begin!_

Sly Cooper slowly lifted his cane, his eyes following Inspector Scott as he dropped from his hiding spot. He was dressed in his usual black attire, blending in perfectly with this sinister battleground -- the kind you would see in the worst of nightmares. His unnatural crimson eyes pierced through the darkness, staring at the raccoon like fixed, egregious searchlights. He released a deranged screech, pulled his kni**f**e from its holster and charged at him.

Sly forsaw the predictable move and leapt over the corrupt enforcer. He landed on his feet and rotated to strike at his opponent. His hooked cane smashed into Scott's back, causing the human to snarl with fury. Sly twirled his weapon and struck again, this time hitting the officer's left leg. There was a loud snap, and the force of the strike was enough to bring the larger man to his knees.

_"Too predictable!"_ Sly thought, _"C'mon, do something new..."_

In an unexpected move, Scott threw himself around and slashed at his enemy. The knife's tip ran along Sly's chest, and blood immediately poured forth, consuming the bright blue color of his outfit. The thief clenched his teeth **a**s the stinging sensations clawed at his chest. He raised his cane, ready to break open the insane human's skull, but Scott suddenly rose to his feet and threw a fist into the furre's face, sending him tumbling backwards.

After sliding the knife back into its sheath, the inspector snatched his writhing arch enemy up from the ground, lifted him high into the air and then slammed him against the concrete. Scott stepped back, sneering when that wretched creature howled in agony.

Sly fought the unfathomable pain surging through his body, bringing himself back upright and trying quickly to recall past methods that led him to victory. With a weak smirk, he sped up time by simply thinking about it, and dropkicked Scott in the face, striking him like a living bolt of li**g**htning. Blood erupted from Scott's nose and it splashed onto the ground as equally as fast -- but he simply wouldn't fall. Sly kept the handy Cooper-techinique in motion and zoomed between the deadly man's legs. He then pummeled the butt of his cane into Scott's back, sending him flying down a cavernous hole, which was almost invisible due to the sheer absence of light.

The thief ceased the trick and peered into the void, his ears falling flat. "Great." He sighed. "It just had to be the sewer-hole..."

Holding his breath, he reluctantly descended the malodorous vortex, using his toes to search for stepping stones as he neared the bottom. Before his feet even touched the slimy surface below, he was pried from the wall and thrown off. He landed in the vile, shallow under**g**round river with a grunt, and he registered a look of disgust on his face -- though not because of the bacteria-ladened matter that covered him. Rather, it was mere sight of Inspector Scott standing before him once again. Sly eyed the madman's drawn knife, which glistened faintly in the overwhelming shadow.

As soundless as death, Scott leapt onto Sly and brought his weapon down. The knife pierced through the sludgy river, and just barely missed the raccoon's head.

Sly's heart raced, the hot breath of his ever-persistant stalker caressing his face. He managed wrap his legs around the inspector's neck, and with all his might he slung him aside. Cooper then regained his footing and pressed a minuscule button on his cane. The family heirloom became enveloped with a blazing orange glow, and the dark sewers were suddenly illuminated. He dashed towards the perplexed Inspector Scott and swung his cane, sloppily detaching the vengeful man's left arm at the elbow. Both his knife and arm fell to the ground, along with a downpour of crimson.

Scott roared wildly. Not from the immense pain, but from the frustration, and the possibility of yet another failure. With his only hand, he drew his Glock 26 and released the hammer, firing it point black at the Procyon's hip. The bullet plowed through flesh and bone, and burst out the other end with red liquid trailing behind it. The sound of it ricocheting off the sordid brick wall acc**o**mpanied Cooper's yelp.

The hooked pole's brilliant glow ceased as Sly lurched back, but he impulsively reactivated it. He disregarded his injured hip and limped over to his opponent, who was still going utterly berserk. Sly growled, shoving his powered-up weapon into the man's gut. It tore straight through his belly; the hooked end appearing as a lump as it pressed against the back of Scott's jacket. Sly listened to the human's breathing, which was becoming more and more labored as the seconds flew. There was no question about it; the wound was quite fatal, and he would not live to see another day. Finally, this game was over.

He pulled his cane out, and both Scott and his guts fell to the ground. The new stench that filled the air was tremendous, and it was enough to make Sly retch. Turning away from the corpse, he started to limp away -- bu**t** suddenly, a gunshot deafened the tunnels, and Sly felt something penetrate the back of his head. A soupy combination of blood and liquid brain matter seeped out of the entry wound, and the subterranean battlefield soon dissolved into a plane of nothingness; possessing neither shape or sound...

"Don't always be so egotistical." Bentley said after lifting the VR training goggles from Sly's face. "You turned your back after winning and he got the final shot! This is the third time-- no, the fourth time this has happened! Get it together, Sly!"

**Cooper Gang's Hideout****Paris, France, 4:37 pm**

Sly frowned. "Sorry. I thought for sure he was dead..."

"Well, we're gonna have to correct the problem with more training!" exclaimed the tortoise as he set the goggles aside. He paused for a moment, and then quietly added; "I don't want you dying out there. In real life..."

"I know, I know!" the raccoon snapped, turning away from Bentley. "But you don't understand what it's like to break someone to pieces, or listen to them as they stuggle to breathe. It really messes you up. And after all these horrible virtual fights, I can't help feeling remorse for him now." His ears lowered, and his voice became harsher. "I just wish it wasn't like _this_."

"Sly, you can't change the way things are." Bentley explained, "That's why the simulator is the way it is. Inspector Scott is a cold, mindless killing machine, and he'll never show you the remorse that _you_ feel."

"He's not mindless. There's more to it than that..."

"Perhaps there is. However, I must ask what we would gain from piecing the puzzle together...?" Bentley threw his stumpy arms into the air and answered his own question; "Nothing! He's always going to stalk you, and his desire to murder you is never, ever going to fade! It's best to simply forget about pity and... well, fight to survive!"

"...You're right." Sly said, looking somewhat more cheerful than before. "Thanks Bent. You've always been a real pal."

"Eh, don't mention it..."

Once this was said, Sly and Bentley withdrew from the drab, spacious cubicle dedicated solely to VR training, and entered the living room, where they found Murray dancing to an obnoxious rap music video on T.V. His huge gut was swinging back and forth, and cheese puffs were pouring out of the shimmering bag in his hand. He finally noticed his stunned friends, waved at them, and then turned the volume down. "What's up my niggers?" he said, unexpectedly.

"Step away from the idiot box, Murray." Sly chuckled. "It's news time."

"Awww!" The 'pink burden' threw himself onto the sofa and nearly tipped it backwards, "But Maggie Mink is so boring!"

"Boring? She's informative and quite beautiful, if I do say so myself!" Bentley declared with a ridiculous grin. "Now, I do wonder where the remote control could be...?" He gave Murray a stern gaze, and the hippo eventually surrendered the remote control to him. After he and Sly had seated themselves, he began flipping through the channels until he reached DIFE 22 -- his news station of choice.

"...And this just in; Rouen Zoo has just reported that one of their silverback gorillas has gone missing." mumbled DIFE's top reporter, Maggie Mink, in a rather nonchalent manner. She swept her fluffy brown hair back with a slender hand and continued; "The evidence found by Interpol suggests that it was stolen overnight. Security officers are being questioned as to why they did not see the thieves. Investigators believe they were drinking... or something..."

"A gorilla?" snickered Cooper. "Why would somebody want to steal one of those?"

"For money, my friend." Bentley replied.

"More breaking news," Maggie said, still sounding uninterested. "Reverend Hector Malvin Galagos, the leader of the anti-furre revolution, has been spotted in the same city; Rouen. Coincidence?"

Bentley's mouth dropped the moment he heard this. "Incredulous! Galagos? In France? Oh gawd, we're all gonna die!"

"Dude, wasn't he always in France?" Sly asked while scratching his head.

"Of course not, Sly!" The tortoise bleated, typically puzzled by his mammalian companion's dimness. "His most recent broadcast was from Newport, Oregon. In the United States."

"Really?"

"Yes! And the strange thing is, no one even had the notion to arrest him! I mean, he is wanted for countless execrable murders, if memory serves me right. Which it always does..."

"I'm out of cheese puffs!" Murray cried.

**Le Police Department, I.E.E #35****Paris, France, 4:57 pm**

Inspector Fox and her partner stood before Chief Kiss, both wearing dumbfounded expressions. They had encountered some strange happenings in the past, such as the horrifying 'New Mexican dog event' three years ago, or when their own Chief participated in a 'rap duel' against a disgruntled reptilian oddity, or when Scott had to dress up as a prostitute. But to Carmelita, even these events paled in comparison to this one. "Someone took a gorilla?" She asked again, wondering if she heard right the first time.

Kiss, who was taking the situation critically, nodded and gave her a straightforward answer; "Yes. A gowilla."

Scott looked quite the opposite of his superior, as an amused grin was pasted onto his face. Kiss lifted a fuzzy brow, and Scott's grin instantly disappeared, and after clearing his throat, he said with all due seriousness; "And you want us to go looking for it, right?"

"What do you think this shit is? What can brown do for _you _today?" said Kiss with a suddenly-white nasual voice, mocking the way Scott speaks. "Naw, dawg. Dis ain't U.P.S., it's what can _yo'_ do for _brown_ today. I want th' two of ya' ta get th' four-one-one on Nazi-boy Galagos, straight up. He's patrollin' Rouen and I can't be havin' nobody ridin' dirty on my watch. Dat bitch is straight-trippin' and ya know what dat means? Yeah, no lie; it means trouble fo' all da in, un and-otherwise non competent types livin' all up in dat joint. Ya dig? Yo' two feelin' me on dis?"

Carmelita saluted. "Yes Chief!"

"And if yo' two find dat biotch... dat'd be dope; as in, dat's yo' orders. Yo, curb-stomp his shiny bald head... maybe ya crackers should put some cuffs on him!" Kiss said, pulling off some Larvell Jones style karate chops, having just watched Police Academy not too long ago. "We definitely want dis punk-ass whitie alive; I'm down fo' interrogation, playa'. He knows what's up, and ya know what? I wanna know what's up, too. Now, get dat hoopde ride out of ma muddafuckin' lot and _find _him! Go on, _bounce_, son! Yo' blockin' ma Suburban." Kiss turned to Carmelita and made a back-handed sweeping motion of dismissal. "Yo' two, Pancake-ass. I want _results_ this time, shawty. Do yoselves a favor, don't holla until yo' balla."

Wasting no time, the two elite flatfoots raced out of Kiss' office, zig-zagged through the nearly unoccupied hallways and descended the Le Police Station's longwinded staircases. All the trim windows, the brilliant light that shone through them, and the building's own miscellaneous furnishings disappeared completely once they reached the lower levels. Eventually, they found themselves in the underground parking area, and were surprised to see their silver Alfa Romeo Brera covered in disparaging slur, such as _bitch_, _Satan's spic _and _all furres will go to hell! _.

"Not the Brera!" The vixen shrieked.

"My my, Carm." said Scott with a titter. "Someone obviously doesn't like you..."

Carmelita shot a vicious look at her human cohort, and then returned her attention to the car and its miserable state. "We can't go in this..."

That amused grin found its way onto Scott's face again. "Why not?"

"Scott, just_ look _at it. It looks--"

"Colorful, I know. Get in the car and stop your bitching."

**Rouen Cathedral****Rouen, France, 8:05 pm**

Edwig Smart, a white tail stag in his mid twenties, stood across the street from the Rouen Cathedral. The facade reminded him of a 13th century castle. The stone was sculpted to look as though it were arched with pointed columns. Massive doors of black metal were custom cut in the same arch as the stone. Solid pewter handles adorned each door, contrasting sharply with the blackness of each.

On each door hung one ever-watching gargoyle with its wings folded back against its body in ominous form. Jeweled red eyes gleamed from their place deep within the creatures' head, and seemed to beckon anyone that looked their way. Edwig's eyes roamed upward and took in the sign at a glance. Garnet colored and lit, it seemed as jewel-like as the gargoyles' eyes. Edwig noticed a second level. Stained glass windows were strategically placed within the "A's" and the "O" of the lettering, scrawling the venue's name upon the wall. They too gleamed brightly, beckoning the unwary with a seductive, yet ancient air.

The building was free standing, hinting strangely at a feudal estate. A tower was perched upon its top, and it was completed with an archaic bell. He had to wonder if it tolled the midnight hour, then surmised it was absolutely for effect and theme. The structure enticed its patrons to enter these dark doors, which is just what he did. The deer had to see if the inside was as pleasing to the eye as the outside.

It was all that he had expected it to be, with the archaic theme carried out upon the inside. His senses were assualted by darkness and mystery, at times smothering in its intensity. When Edwig stopped, he felt curiously as though he were a peasant come to call upon the Grand Manor of old. The carpet in the entrance was red and soft under his boots. Crimson velvet curtains hung, dividing the entrance and club itself. They were pulled back and fastened with ornate gargoyles, their bulky arms holding the drapery in a tight-fisted strangle. He was overcome by the feeling of walking through some mighty Monarch's ghostly castle, to be sure. The floors were a deep dark wood, and the walls were blocks of stone. Basalt it appeared to be, of the most absymal black. Here and there it was shot through with an odd vein of white. At times it look much like bolts of lightning arcing across the sky.

Rouen Cathedral's bar was to the left. Constructed of pewter, mahogany, smoked glass and basalt; it seemed to stretch for miles. The sconces with candles in them only added to the ambience, and hung in countless numbers along the walls. Traditional lightning consisted of recessed lights that were barely visible, along with sinister chandeliers. Tables and booths surrounded the large dance floor in the center of the room.

In addition to the sconces, there were pictures. Most depicted a type of Gothic battle scene, though posters of classic horror movies ranging from Werewolves to Vampires, as well as Witches and Warlocks. Other grim objects were placed in various places: cauldrons, skeletons and even a few broomsticks. Axes hung here and there, along with a number of other medieval devices used for torture, such as chains, collars and swords of numerous sizes. Edwig gave pause before heading towards a table, not able to blend well, but simply trying to be left alone by avoiding everyone.

His eyes lifted towards a stage on the other side of the dance floor. An iron wrought podium stood in the center, and a human-esque gentleman seemed to appear from thin air, approaching from the shadows of back stage. Upon making his presence made, the establishment underwent a noticable change: the pounding ambient club music became silent, replaced by a cacophony of aggressive cheering. Shouting and whistling filled Edwig's ears.

"Galagos!" A man beside him shouted, adding a cheerful Aryan salute.

Galagos was an omnipotent-looking being, with a nasual voice and an elegant posture. He wore a viridian robe that was covered in swirling patterns of powder blue, and his skin was almost completely white. He stood behind the podium, his demonic smile and hateful eyes cutting through the dim illumination. Orange and scarlet lighting began to glow, incandescing softly from above.

"Yes, yes. It is I!" Galagos announced, making those ever-mesmerizing hand movements. "The Harbinger and the Blade of God! Reverend Galagos!" The hybrid then blinked in confusion when he caught sight of something aberrant, and very contemptable. "Oh ho, and what do have we here ?!"

Edwig's ears lowered. The uncomfortable furre seemed to shrink back into his chair as Galagos pointed a finger across the establishment, singling the deer out. The mob turned about, facing him with a hateful glare. Edwig found himself frozen as his animalistic instincts kicked in. His heart was now pounding, and his body felt numb. The group approached slowly, flanking him from all sides. Sweat dampened his brow as panic set in, and deep within, he wished he was still at home; safe and sound. Silently, he cursed the curiousity that brought him here.

A pair of strong arms came about him, locking tight against his throat. Peering down over the side of his snout, the deer could see flesh colored arms that held him there. Another human kicked his table aside; the furniture disappeared into the masses, swallowed by the sea of flesh-beings. Edwig struggled but felt subdued by the raw strength of the powerful arms around him. His eyes lifted again, seeing the crowd part for Galagos' approach.

"Oh, you poor bumbling creature." laughed the hybrid human, baring his jagged teeth. He held what appeared to be a ceremonial knife in his left hand. The crowd seemed to grow excited with anticipation. They shifted their weight and peered over one another's shoulders to see. Galagos placed the tip of the blade against Edwig's torso, a sparkle of mirth in his almost-iridescent color hues. The sound of excited whispering caused Edwig's ears to flicker atop his softly furred head.

Galagos leered at the Cervidae; a broad grin growing at the sound of hushed chanting. "Do it, do it." The crowd begged. Edwig's toes curled and his white tail fluffed. His eyes widened, yet his dilated pupils seemed to shrink to meer pinholes. His lower jaw quivered in trepidation.

"Why do you tremble? I'm here to liberate you, child." Galagos spoke no further words. His chin lifted, glaring down his nose at the furre. "Didn't you hear? God made _man_ in hisimage. Not you. You're an abomination, and you'll burn far from the sight of the Almighty. Does that bother you? If you have a soul to speak of, you'll be lucky to see the planes of purgatory!"

Edwig clenched his teeth together at the sensation of pain. An icy chill entered his body; the frigid metal eased between his ribs and pierced his pounding heart. The spasming muscle thrashed violently against the blade, which suddenly protruded from the back of his shirt. Galagos continued to push until the tip of the blade found the backrest of the chair. He twisted the serrated weapon with but a simple rotation of his wrist. "There is a fine line between murder and extermination, but I do neither for the human race. I merely wish to preserve our heritage. It's not business or even pleasure -- it's manifest destiny, my boy!"

Edwig's head lulled forward, weak from a sudden lack of motor coordination. His glazed eyes reflected the handle of the fancy knife. The glassy orbs struggled to hold focus on the subject. His intestines spilled from his belly. The freshly gutted stag squirmed lightly in protest to the image of his organs being drawn from his abdomen. "J-Jesus! W... w-why?"

"It doesn't matter whether or not you believe I'm on a crusade." said Galagos in an almost endearing voice. "It only matters that I'm purifying the soil of our home." The hybrid threw his arms outwards. Those who had a hand in getting the furre stepped back to give their leader leeway. "You will be another symbol. Have you ever heard of Vlad Tepes Draculea? He put his enemies on public display, the way the Romans did to _their _enemies. You'll have the pleasure of becoming a sign. Never in your insignificant life has anyone bestowed such a gracious gift upon you. You'll actually have meaning now, little furre..." Galagos watched the labored beast sink further into the depths of personal darkness. He lifted the furre's head with his palm, locking his gaze with the creature. "Take this being's eyes out! I wish to bronze them, and offer them as a gift to Ariel Kahn! Quickly now, before he draws his last breath! Haha!"

The reverend darted back to his podium, while two of his rugged henchmen appeared from back stage to carry out their vicious task. Several more henchmen came forth, bringing down large crates as Edwig's eyes were brutally removed from their sockets, and as if on cue, red carpets bearing 'crosstikas' unfurled from higher levels. The mob cheered and whistled again, but silenced themselves after Galagos roared into his microphone.

"Are there any paranoids in the audience tonight?" He spat with curled lip, "Is there anyone here who worries about things?"

"Oh, I do!" replied a homeless man, who was waving about a champagne bottle. The rest of the group simply guffawed.

Galagos shook his head. "...Pathetic. This is for all the weak people in the audience. Is there anyone here who's weak? This is for you, it's called run like hell."

Suddenly, all the containers were ripped open by Galagos' subservient underlings. Automated firearms, explosives and melee weapons were pulled from the crates and randomly passed around, while the so-called Blade of God continued his ranting; "Let's all have a clap!" Those who were devoid of weaponary did so without second thought, and the hybrid couldn't help but smile at their sheep-mentality. "C'mon, I can't hear you! Get your hands together, have a good time! Enjoy yourselves! That's better!"

After Galagos released a primal scream, the Cathedral's doors swung open, generating a thunderous clap as they did. The wicked group swarmed outside, and like mindless insects they gathered up all the furres they could find. Their prey was mostly just chopped to pieces, while others were mowed down by machinegun fire. But the rest had the privilege of taking part in an ancient sort of execution. Their reason for being spared soon became apparent when hundreds and hundreds of wooden crosses were tugged out of the once-religious building. Those who were specifically-chosen were nailed down and then disemboweled once the crosses had been brought upright. Blood, guts and severed limbs littered Rouen's streets, and the smell of death reigned over the city like a noxious cloud...

When Inspector Scott and Carmelita arrived three hours later, they were greeted with a mordid sight. The streets had been totally stained with crimson, and rows upon rows of crosses stood like dark gravestones. Some were even placed on the tops of nearby buildings. A far off screech made them jump, and then a loud explosion came from the same direction. Their car rattled as the ground shook, and a few of the huge Christian symbols tipped over.

Scott flipped open his communicator, and spoke quietly as his vulpine companion buried her face into her hands; "Kiss, we're gonna need some back up..."


End file.
